This is how cool my cousin is.

Whole and a Hackneyed Metaphor

Meeting up with old friends expensive drinks and supermarkets, crowded with the shake of end of day.

Stolen bikes. A bottle each and we're on the metro, but only for ten seconds.

On the quai de la seine downing champagne the reminder of old times, chat-banc and trips to the isle of whight.

Here, parisian and ever so slightly browned by sunshine I am whole again. Lost in good friendships, people who have time to love you. It's a constant lullaby. Old Nick, my friend, feet raw on the river bank concrete. Lit bateau mouche, telling stories every time you light up the kid's eyes. My god, my darling have another sip. I wish you wouldn't worry. Because I've been singing sad songs for a long time now. And I'm taking you in as much as the Rosee we're drinking.

You're rich and paying for 15euro margaritas and seven euro evians.

"Come to my party for champagne and evian!" Laughing because it's been so long and yet it hasnt been a second since I've last seen you.

I wish I had more time.

porque yo no quiero cobardes 
que me hagan sufrir

I smell dentistry.

Ojos Asi

TETRIS!

SHAKIRA SHAKIRA

arthritis an uprising in my finger canals!

TETRIS!

SHAKIRA SHAKIRA

Frank Sinatra!

sera mejor asi

undaneath your clothes! theres an endless story!

------------------------------

Too much tetris. Too much shakira shakira.

What is it with humans' inability to make each other feel appreciated. What is it with their inability to be honest. What is it with humans' inability to be  What is it with their inability to 

broken fucking record.

Canadian and British Shows; the Illustration of a Bet Ending Bad.

Lids shut on a well behaved, classic, sunrise.

Nerves askew, balancing white winters and hand me down shoes.

Charisma dances. Winding me up for two minutes of buzzing and clicking.

Lieutenant Bullshit, the constant nightmare of comfort and regret,

Crushing ice with your eyeballs, gracefully sarcastically finite.

Grenadine

Sprite.

I just found out that ''anal cancer'' exists.

What the fuck? I didn't buzz you in. How the monkey did you get in here?

Acryllic is not for the face.

It dries like enamel on the skin

tooralooraloor tooralooraley

upon his knee a pretty wench

and on the table a jug of punch

Fete de la Musique

Trailer

Wipeout!

Another example of high quality television.

TV SHOW OF THE WEEK: ABC's Wipeout!

24 contestant humiliate themselves on a ridiculous primary-colored obstacle course. 12 move on to round two, 6 to round three and then 4 to the final Wipeout course. I can't remember what it's actually called.

Contestants include massage therapists, gogo dancers and cougars.

Excellence in a jar. 

"I guess they were all aiming to fall in at the same time, john, leaving only one man holding his sack."

The Bright Smoke of Jetlag, Tumbling

Awoken by the bare minimum, run amuck, a chorus of chrysanthemums falling from the ceiling with one eye star struck. Cool and quiet, the sound of wrecking ball nausea in cause-and-effect scenarios, a story board caught up by falling to someone else's knees.

And please, you're fucking with my brain much more than you have to. These flowers, odd and ugly, remain oblivious oblivious and unsteady.

And you're wanting more. The appeal of tragedy. The provocation of regret. And destruction.

This is not Romance. This is death.

The bump of a moth will break your neck, the slowly arching evil of resentment a claustrophobic wreck. "Take care of me take care of me until there's nothing left!" emptying your mouth into paper rolled tight.

Standing strange and uncomfortable by the mailbox while Catherine yells over me. I'm receiving letters of thick disgust to add to the pile, like the mountain of trash on my doorstep. Like the slow rotting of elegant empires. Like disappointment creeping in. The realization that not all is well 

barricades itself in your office. And writes photographs into your ceiling and into your chrysanthemum heart.

6/14/09

Messed up messed about. My confusion is a reckless train, the Headache you get with a tumor in your brain.

Dreamland suicides, I saw virgin tricks form gently in your eyes in the shape of morning gunk. The lining on you on the floor made me think of something outside broken pleasure. Luck that made the dust settle.

Now all the marchers descend on high. I will dedicate all of my awakenings to this. And damn all the angles that oppress my sight. I will bleed your heart through a samovar soon. And baby needs a new prize, baby needs a new and shiny prize.

Changes, for a whole new generation of suck, for a whole new generation of muck.

Putting sweetness to death. After having blown its own fingers off to escape the trenches. But darling chivalry is dead chivalry is long long gone.

So shut your mouth and suck it up. Said the prince.

The trapeze act was wonderful but never meant to last.

(The Tain Part II - The Decemberists; Trapeze Swinger - Iron and Wine)

Cracked and Jigged

Old Notebook

Old:

ABC
Alphabet Jungle
Sea Monster Mechanic, two mouths:
1. dreamstance
2. Poetic Interference
I'm calloused by the non-witty crackheads of tomorrow's coffee
Something tells me you're the crook...

Older:

The secret to burning yourself down is mathematically incorrect.
Video war; self centered imagery
The famous cutleries and their rather aimless acting abilities
saunter through you like nausea
"I'll cut you like a knife" and they clamber noisily up ladders of golden nightmare. Effegine,
my clever nun.
Voice like a cheese grater
Soft as a gun
Carries my second wife
(her tumor-ego laughs fake tans into my eyes like radiation)
My brother's flat-mate,
Susan,
danced pectorals into her long term co-worker
25 dollars at the door.
Chapter 2 brings an elegant old crust,
medication dictatorships.

How long have we known eachother?
The cliche cliche catch-me up of extroverted script-writing.
To take her place.
Mahalesh Mahalesh La La
Back to the ferry
back to the dirt.

I don't give a shit I don't give a shit
About making sense.
About catching the last train.
About dancing in the rain.

My hands are a heart hair line fracture
Bitten by bad drivers and
The architects of this dream are long gone
And the shit-covered ballet stars scream:
"Had I known, I would have--"
Etc.
Kissing an albatross. They ride bicycles into the ditch.

The plug being pulled on old times.
Secrets Secrets
Catching my feet on the foot of the bed
I am a constant downfall
Writing down the fifty states over and over and over and over.

Blowing up balloon people with weak fans, frosted by cigarette ash cool as the night air.
Seeing movies at midnight, skits and in the morning listening to a lengthy lecture about drugs.
I buy you cigarettes, glad for an excuse glad for an excuse.
His car gets stuck on the tree root outside my house. Push and push.
Fights, sex and sleep. No sleep.
-sad person - disgruntled person-
box hats.
I'm trying to light my cigarette but there's batter on the floor and I'm scared.
On doing the right thing and hamburgers:
walking to parking lots and running into heartbreakers where your friend becomes quiet.
Sadly quiet.
Adventures down preston paper on dead electronics and tv shows.

ankles broken in the mud,
An ache crawling though the cracks in my jaw,
chewing down my teeth on the couch where i hear your shaking voice speak of heart break and my heart is broken too, just for you.

Legends of the Hidden Temple

The Duel

Sick and watching the Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Duel II. AND LOVING it. Paula is goddamm psychotic.

"If you put my name in your mouth, I'm gonna retaliate. You gonna be a friend to my face and a bitch to my back- The people who talk the most are the ones who have the most fear."

"The competitors have to hang in for survival in the Upside Downer challenge as th

ree of the duelers find themselves in the middle of a complicated love triangle."

"You're each going to make your way to the end of that rope and grab the Mauri carvings. But! You'll be upside down hung by your ankles.."

"I have my own back to worry about okay? I'm not going to be worrying about everyone elses back"

"She's a liar, she's disgusting, and you know I don't think someone like that deserves this money. I just want to walk around and punch her in the face while she's sleeping. Aneesa, I don't like you, I don't like your ways. You're just giving me a bad aura. So. I don't think a person like that deserves to win."

"The intel was bad. Somebody screwed up. I'm going into the duel for the third time."

"I am going in there. And I am going to win and I am going to kick butt. Once I am in the duel I want to show these girls that I am one to be reckoned with and one to win."

Awesome.

Imaginary

"You're not nice to me afterwards. You don't like me afterwards."
"That's a lie, ________, that's just a lie." Drunken blond.

Imaginary Resentment

"Hypothermia to the max!!" She cried. She was floating dead down the river until she was slowly swept into a fallen branch, her shoulder dislocated and running free. "I am a goddam ridiculous sight."

Earlier...

Her shoes are too tight and she is trying to cross the street. She stands still as a car comes to a halt (there is a stop sign after all). She cautiously steps forward only to see her eyelashes trimmed. "What a dick wad." She shuffles across the street, the car long gone. "What a wad of
dick. A wad... of dick." Confused, she steps into Bath and Bed: Beyond the Bed and Bath to find a shower curtain. Twenty dollars for a goddam shower curtain twenty. Forget that. Departure.

The Angelic Repercussions of Trespassing...

"It is ten AM, and I'm guessing you're rather smug now. Walking around pretending to imagine the glory tomorrow might hold. Key word 'pretending'. I must say I was relieved though that you chose to get to the top for once." She is now ankle deep in puddle by the abandoned building being sassy and sharp. Hands on hips.

Cop car. "Goddammit" He spits and runs, fingers surrounding her upper arm. They're running and running and she trips over a tree root. Down down down the hill. In the distance, some party planners walk along "Margarita competition tomorrow night". Oh but now shes soaking wet and bloody. Half face down in the muck and she sees him arrive. The Party Planners go, not noticing any more than themselves.

"I hate you." She coughs mud onto his shoes and he kneels, eyes flecked with shock treatment therapy. He turns her over. "Help me up why don't you." But she's dead in his arms and she doesn't know it yet. He drops her and stands, frantic.

"What--" He walks off, hands on head. Hands on face. Hands on eyes. He's determined. He rolls her body into the river and runs.

She's floating.

What happens, when you realize you are only someone's imaginary friend?

Following the Leader

1. There is nothing better than cosmic delight, the surge that fills the indoors of my ribcage with electrical water.
Sometimes it's too much and tidal waves come pouring out my lips:
Squeeak. I can't express myself.
Writing poems about friends that they might not ever see

2. Being paranoid (the noir ghost king is overwhelming)
Sensitively senile and finished:
Tired of living tired of dying. Lying broken up in the space between closet wall and bed
Shipwrecked and golden.

3. Maybe I'm just sleepy When it comes to being attentive When it comes to being attractive I'm not one for wild goose chases.

4. How did I get here? Crabwalking in circles that are too short for silence. Moaning on hard wood floors the metal mouth of your gun pressed deep into my aching temple. The pain of dehydration and swallowed by cigarette smoke and rejection recordings.

5. They will never come find me. Wandering alone into the street with no sense in my brain, they will never come find me.

The smell of...

I finally filmed yesterday yesterday yesterday yesterday
and will do more today today today today

crime drama film noir blue filters and crappy lights. delightful.

White Wine

Cigarette Kiss, Asparagus Piss.

theres a ring of smoke on my pupils a dotted line on my throat made for cardboard cut out creations!

a few slut bag eye sockets bleed empty from too much rain and too much sun. it's a masterpiece reduction of self.

''let cher consciousness flowww into words on your internet maaan".

i did this but i don't know how, i'm crept into valley monasteries by the dozen, a veritable infestation of grime ball cities.

she's got eyes about sex and a mind about boys. roundabout moods and no ability to see the damage.

i am the vegetables you are the dessert.

damaged on the freeway:

like a deer fucked from behind by your bumper, sad and somewhat darkly retardedly amusing.

spazzing out on newspaper bedroom floors, where constellations and dirt smell like sex and mouths gushing with glory. you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.

you're breathing her neck:

you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.

you're breaking her neck:

sometimes i hate everything i say. sometimes i hate everything i say and every face i make to cover up the miss takes.

bird burglary, crackpots and shit for brains cackling wild like none other.

hit by cars. criss crossed up and down the avenue and then the eventual float to new york city highs.

baking bread for newlyweds and that crazy bug in the mixing bowl.

do you believe me do you believe me darling do you believe me